


Like a Strawberry in the Mouth

by chantefable



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Charms, Humor, M/M, Magic, Malfoy Manor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cautionary, entertaining, and mildly licentious story of a trespassing in Wiltshire as told by Albus Severus Potter, Charms Master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Strawberry in the Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> The title is inspired by the opening lines of _La Place_ , a poem by Léon Kochnitzki: "La jeunesse tombe du ciel // comme une fraise dans la bouche." ("Youth falls from the sky // like a strawberry in the mouth.")

If you happen to be in Wiltshire, do not miss the chance to enjoy the countryside. I strongly encourage you to partake of the pleasures that the local sights shall lavishly bestow upon you, the sensuous curves of the hills, all lush green grass, and the teasing, muted grey of the sky that seems to be close enough to touch. However, I urge you to be mindful of property boundaries, since people here are as unlikely to be overjoyed about you stomping all over their shrubberies as anywhere else in England. I would like to share my own experience in this, and the story I have to tell is both cautionary and entertaining.

It is also mildly licentious.

It happened sometime in September 2026, when I, Albus Potter, was still as far from becoming a Charms Master as the Dutch Dugbogs are from winning the European Quidditch Cup. I had spent the better part of the day walking around the valley, with the clay clinging to my boots and the light autumn drizzle filling my ears with a soft noise. The grass squelched under my feet, and a frayed veil of light blue mist covered the slopes of the hills that seemed to float around me without rhyme or reason. If I hadn't been confident that my Four-Point Spell was up to standard, I would have indeed begun to wonder if I was about to become the first Apprentice in Charms to lose his way in a Level Two charmed valley. That would have stung.

As it was, I knew that the disjointed movement of the hills was nothing but an intentional distraction, and fully intended to follow my route so that I could make it on time to the next checkpoint of my training assignment (a large, charmed slab of chalk rock, I was told). I blame the insufferable rain (its steady hum had rendered me partially deaf after hours of walking around and leaving my magical signature on designated tree stumps and whatnot) and the fall (and if you tell me that slipping in your muddy boots and flying fifteen feet downhill would not leave you at least mildly concussed, then you are either a bloody liar or have a skull thicker than a Bugbear's) for the fact that I only noticed the thrum of the wards when they prickled my skin as I tumbled through.

So there it is: you will have to agree with me that I was not intentionally trespassing. I had had no prior plans to breach anybody's wards, seeing as I had not known that there were anybody's wards, or indeed anybody's property, in the immediate vicinity of the Charms training range; you will have to agree that the accusations that I had to face were most ridiculous. And yet I found myself subjected to a most cruel interrogation by the owner of the estate upon which I had literally stumbled; two full hours of scathing looks and pointed questions marvellously contributed to my splitting headache, and to this day I am convinced that it was solely the combination of my miserable facial expression and stained, soaking wet clothes that finally forced Draco Malfoy to take pity on me, for I am sure that my attempts to disabuse the good gentleman of the notion that I was there as part of some nefarious corporate espionage scheme were ineloquent at best, and did not warrant a tumbler of Firewhiskey being mercifully thrust in my trembling hand.

You should absolutely not assume that trespassing in Wiltshire is a trifling matter that can be brushed off, simply because two Firewhiskeys later there were wet clothes being pulled off, hands roughly stroking bare arms and thighs, and ferocious kisses more effective in restoring normal blood circulation than any Warming Charm were pressed against wrists, clavicles, and other interesting body parts.

 _I mean it._ I have told this story before, you realise, and some people did decide that it clearly signifies that, as long as one is dashing enough, it is perfectly all right to invite oneself to other people's property and commit unspeakable acts thereupon, because, provided that one remembers to breathe a pitiful sigh at the right moment and one's clothes are wet and tight enough, it will all blissfully end with the trespasser and the proprietor in a tangled, whimpering heap on the polished inlaid floors.

I am rather tired of people drawing inappropriate conclusions from this story, so this time I am just going to omit such insignificant details as Binding Spells sharply slicing across my wrists or the way I chased salty droplets of sweat along Draco's jawline, over his pulse point and down to the nape of his neck. It all gives the wrong idea, I believe.

So I trust you will take my word for it when I say that people take the boundaries of their property incredibly seriously around here, even if some of them happen to be much more flexible regarding the boundaries of propriety. I can ascertain that to this day, Draco maintains that he was quite serious about severing my limbs from the rest of my body had I turned out to be another hapless agent of Clearwater & Goldstein sent after one of Draco's revolutionary inventions, and it was merely dumb luck and my fuck-me lips that saved me from a fate worse than Avada Kedavra.

Of course, Draco would sooner cut his hand off with a blunt Potions dagger than admit that I immediately won him over with my charming personality.

If you happen to be in Wiltshire, come visit us.


End file.
